


Look The Part

by aurics



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Actors, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Charles Xavier has a Ph.D in Adorable, Erik is Crushing Harder than a 12-year Old Girl, M/M, Superpowers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-15
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-13 08:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13566378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aurics/pseuds/aurics
Summary: When Charles is assigned as a make-up artist for one of Hollywood's hottest actors, Erik Lehnsherr, Charles knows he's going to be a handful to handle. Just howmuchof a handful Erik can be, however, is something Charles was not prepared for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> An old wip, originally posted on a now abandoned tumblr account!

Being known as the industry’s prodigy make-up artist undoubtedly comes with costs, but the perks entailing the reputation is not one that even Charles Xavier can snub as a downside.

No, not when he has just signed a contract worth three times his average yearly income, and is set to start the very next Monday. The call from the film studio had been unprecedented to say the least, with only a text message from his agent to warn him before he could put the salad he’d been eating at a corner cafe away and tried his best not to sound like he’d rolled out of bed only half an hour ago.

 _You’re the only one we can fully entrust our lead actor with_ , the director had said, _and with your talent we know the movie can be a visual success._ Charles had felt a spike of pride up his spine at the comment. There’s no shortage of praise when it comes to Charles’ abilities, whether such praise is plastered all over the media, discussed amongst actors and directors or even fellow makeup artists, but he rarely hears them directly—let alone so _candidly—_ that he can’t help but be inclined to sign the contract as soon as he could get his hands on it.

As he leans back in the plush seat of his chauffeured car, Charles gives the cast list another read. It’s imperative to do a little bit of research on the main actors/actresses or the actor/actress he will be in charge of prior to any movie project; what kind of lighting they look best under, the undertones of their skin, the way their makeup has been done in their previous movies (which can sometimes set Charles off on a criticism rampage), the character’s background and sometimes, when Charles is feeling particularly meticulous, any allergies or preferences the stars may have.

Charles stares out the window as he turns the next few months of his life over in his head. Of course, it would be far easier to delve into the minds of the actor and just _see_ for himself what exactly would work and what wouldn’t, even the way the actors plan to embody the character so Charles can tailor each component of their make-up, including prosthetics, to their individual need. But that would surely be a serious violation of the actors’ privacy, not to mention Charles’ ability – the one that does not involve brushes and palettes – is far from refined enough to pick and choose through memories and mental thoughts to avoid unwanted information. For all the curiosity surrounding Hollywood celebrities’ lives, Charles knows enough about the mess to be sure that he wants no part of it. Plus, it’s written very clearly in a clause of his contract, and Charles is aware of the consequences of a slip-up long since he’s entered this industry.

There’s no quick way out of it, and with the last-minute nature of the deal Charles hasn’t had the time to be as nosy as he’d like, but he realises he probably doesn’t need to, because the financial side is not even the best part of the entire ordeal. _Definitely not,_ Charles muses as he reads the name under the title **_LEAD ACTOR_ ** , because only someone living under a cinematic rock would be impervious by the mention of Hollywood’s hottest actor:

_Erik Lehnsherr._

 

*

  


“And remember what we’ve agreed to, Mr. Xavier. We view every person’s privacy on this set in as a top priority along with safety.”

Charles maintains the most charming smile he can muster lest the director sees the annoyance under his practically metal-clad self control. It goes without saying that Charles is well-educated enough to know that a breach of anyone’s privacy is unethical, but he decides against vocalising this thought. There’s no point in starting a scuffle on his first day of work, after all.

“Would not even dream of letting it slip past my mind, Sir.”

“You better not,” laughs the director.

The two men shake hands before another staff escorts Charles to his trailer. Being the lead makeup artist of the movie, Charles has been assigned the biggest trailer, with four smaller trailers surrounding it which he assumes the rest of the make-up crew will share. As they walk past, Charles is already concocting plans of small crew dinner parties with homemade baked goods, ravishing main courses and suitably appropriate amounts of alcohol involved. His rise to fame is admired by many but it has also been a lonely trek for Charles thus far, an underlying fact evident in the way he holds onto company within his reach in an almost desperate manner. His tendency to be hospitable can become overbearing, Charles knows, but it’s also worth the try if it means he can make more than one or two friends on set.

“Principal photography will start in a two days,” says the escort pleasantly, breaking Charles out of his trance.

“Not tomorrow?” he frowns, reaching for his phone and opening up the Calendar application.

“Unfortunately there’s a slight delay as several cast members are unable to make the date,” replies the young staff easily. “We’re sorry for the inconvenience, but since most of the crew and cast are here on set you may take the opportunity to discuss with the costume designer regarding your collaboration, or perhaps the props director over there. Perhaps even other actors?”

“Not a problem at all,” Charles lets out a relieved breath. “And yes, that sounds like a marvelous plan. I was afraid I’d have to dive into the job without much background information.”

“That can’t happen if we want everything to go through without a hitch, can we?” laughs the staff good-naturedly. “Would you like me to introduce you to our costume designer?”

“Actually, I’d like to meet the lead actor if that’s alright, since I’m going to be in charge of him most of the time.”

The escort smiles sweetly. “Of course.”

They step out of Charles’ roomy trailer and walk over to the actors’ trailer lot. A thousand thoughts fly through Charles’ head along the way— _will Erik find his techniques agreeable? Will he find_ Charles _agreeable? Or will Erik compare him to every other make-up artist he’s ever had? Will find Charles him agreeable?_ —and a thousand more scenarios of their first meeting distract him so thoroughly that he doesn’t even bother looking up to see how big and how sparsely decorated Erik’s trailer is, that his strides are more mechanical than conscious, can only nod politely and mutter a small ‘thank you’ when the staff leaves him right outside Erik’s door and Charles Xavier rarely loses his nerves but right now his palms feel a little more clammy than usual.

He takes a deep breath. Then turns the knob.

The last thing Charles expects is to see is a metal bucket of ice with an opened bottle of champagne inside suspended in the air—

which promptly crashes to the floor as Charles freezes in the doorway, stuck between the noise outside and the look of piercing terror in Erik Lehnsherr’s eyes.

“Oh, shit.”

The ensuing feelings of panic and pleasant shock wash over Charles like a tidal wave, making him sway in his spot a little before he scrambles to recover his mental barriers. Erik’s projected emotions comes as another unexpected surprise, as if the strangeness of their meeting proves to be inadequate, but it’s a surprise Erik does not need to be aware of. Charles does his best to level the actor with an unwavering gaze.

They stare at each other in silence, and usually Charles would try to cover up a blunder by spouting nonsense to distract the unfortunate observer with his words, but this time it’s not his blunder to cover and Erik Lehnsherr doesn’t seem like the type to acknowledge his mistakes.

Which leaves them in a stilted and awkward position, not knowing where to step (quite literally in Charles’ case) until Erik breaks the silence.

“Can you please close the door?”

Charles’ mouth falls open on its own accord, because those are not the words he expects coming out of someone whose superhuman abilities have just been exposed to a stranger. Fumbling behind him for the doorknob, Charles swings the door shut and stares at the actor sprawled over his comfy-looking recliner in disbelief. He doesn’t even have time to take in the tastefully decorated trailer he’s in—all modern and chic, undoubtedly put together by the best interior designer money can buy -- before Erik speaks again.

“Erik Lehnsherr,” he nods at Charles, and Charles mirrors the motion.

“Charles Xavier,” he hesitates. “And you do not seem to be alarmed.”

Erik blinks. “Why would I need to be so?”

He tips his head downwards and looks at the mess on the floor, the slight tremble in his fingers and Charles decides there are many, _many_ things Erik Lehnsherr should be alarmed about. He hears a distant echo of _oh, shit_ and wonders what exactly Erik had meant by that.

Erik follows his gaze and sighs. “Someone will take care of that, don’t mind it. Take a seat.”

If Charles’ inference of social cues is accurate, Erik is signaling for their conversation to gravitate towards the professional kind, however brashly, and to leave any anomalies from their first meeting out of Charles’ memory. Fine. He has at least four months of filming and three different locations to move to on his contract anyway, which means plenty of time to coax an explanation out of his client.

For now, though, Charles preoccupies himself with Erik’s good angles— which, at the moment, seems to be every and any angle at all, much to his simultaneous dismay and delight.

“A pleasure to meet you, Mr. Lehnsherr. I’ll be your main make-up artist for the duration of principal photography.”

“Call me Erik,” he says as he grips Charles’ hand in a firm shake. “A pleasure. I’ve heard lots about you, Mr. Xavier.”

“If we’re going with Erik there’s no reason for the formality. Charles, please.” He sinks onto the black, sleek settee opposite the actor gingerly, observing him with keen interest now that the awkward blunder is put to the side. “And I’m humbled by the privilege of getting to work alongside Hollywood’s gem, so the pleasure is all mine.”

Erik’s lips twitch in a small smile. “Is this your first day on the set?”

Charles tries hard not to stare too blatantly at Erik’s striking grey eyes, which are of such a stunning colour that Charles is practically vibrating in his seat with excitement. The expressions he will be able to pull out of those mesmerising eyes, the colour combinations he can exploit the depths of that gaze with to construct the fine, nuanced lines of emotions—and it’s almost as if those eyes alone are enough to justify the hype surrounding him across Hollywood. Heck, even across the world. Charles is on the verge of letting out a groan of satisfaction himself, but he is an acclaimed, trusted professional who can surely keep his composure around the actor. His portfolio features bigger names than Erik Lehnsherr, so there is no good reason for him to work himself into a frenzy.

“Correct. My contract was finalised in the very last stages of pre-production.”

“What do you think of it so far?”

Charles grins teasingly. “My current judgement of the set may be unfairly skewed if I were to offer you an insight at this moment, considering I have just stepped foot in it an hour ago.”

Erik catches his look, a small smirk on the edge of his lips. “Meaning?”

“You may be better or worse as a client than I initially expected.”

Charles was expecting a smile, maybe a good-hearted laugh or even a sarcastic one at his lame attempt of a joke. He’s surprised and slightly disheartened to see Erik unmoved, his jaw tightening just the slightest bit.

“You said for the duration of the principal photography. Does this mean you’re off-duty outside of filming?”

Charles raises an eyebrow. “I believe that is the standard procedure in this industry.”

“I hope you’re not getting the wrong idea,” says Erik quickly. “I’m only asking since my last two make-up artists for my last projects doubled as my day-to-day stylist.”

“Why?”

Erik looks away with a small frown between his eyebrows, though so subtle that Charles almost misses the expression. “Let’s just say I’m not the easiest client to deal with.”

“Believe me, I can handle a little bit of drama.”

For a moment Erik simply stares at Charles, and then he’s grinning -- all teeth, and the private joke it seems to hide makes Charles wonder whether he has misconstrued his words. “Noted.”

Charles has practiced fortifying his mental shields a great deal before he even steps foot on the set, but it’s been less than an hour and his mind is trespassed twice already. He raises a hand to his temple, trying to ward off the slight headache Erik’s projected mirth and amusement is causing him.

“I think your presence here is enough reason for a toast,” Erik says, opening the mini-fridge in his pantry and grabbing another bottle of champagne. During the five seconds of Erik’s attention being preoccupied by something other than him, Charles takes the chance to right his mind shields.

“I can’t say no to good champagne,” Charles looks up at Erik and knows that he’s got a hint of that mischievous glint in his eyes he’s so famous for. “Nor to good company.”

“Flattered,” is all Erik says in reply before their glasses clink, and Charles can’t help but return Erik’s gaze over the rim of the champagne flute.

 

*

 

  


Erik sets his toothbrush down with a heavy sigh and decides to skip shaving again. There’s still some time before filming truly starts and he doesn’t really mind the scratch of a subtle against his chin all that much. It makes him look a little wizened, in a way, instead of a hopeful, young actor who could be taken advantage of. 

He wipes his face off and stares at the mirror, trying to wipe his thoughts clean but of course there’s still the niggling events of the afternoon stuck in his head. Just thinking about the wide-eyed expression of Charles Xavier as he walked into Erik’s afternoon drink brings a smile to his face, so wide it’s threatening to split into a grin. Truth be told, Erik felt a chill of fear when Charles walked in with his eyes wide, afraid of being found out. Exposed. 

But the wide eyes had been the extent of Charles’ surprise. Anyone else would have run out to call the tabloids to inform them that Hollywood’s most demanded actor is, in fact, a mutant. Sure, mutants today are no longer persecuted in the same way they had been long ago, but there are still certain fields of occupation and industries where one’s mutancy is best kept undercover, only known to employers and never disclosed to a third party – sadly, some still see this as too much of a risk, and decide to lie altogether. As much as this practice enraged Erik at first, he does see how his abilities could inconvenience others and decides to try and accustom himself to it; but he draws the line at lying. He makes it a requisite condition for his agents to inform directors about his mutant abilities as well as his level of control. He usually discloses such information to the higher-ups. 

Never to… makeup artists. 

Perhaps it’s a little inappropriate to be thinking of Charles Xavier’s inquisitive-looking blue eyes and all-too red lips while he gets dressed since Erik starts heating up under his turtleneck, but it’s impossible to stop. Erik has never been one for vanity, but once Charles first stepped in, all Erik could think of was what he looked like at that moment, lounging on his couch with a drink in a fucking bucket – he groans. He must have looked like a pathetic drunkard, and for some reason it irks Erik, so used to sweeping everyone he meets off their feet from the very second they make eye contact. 

He walks out into his spotless pantry and stares at his bare cupboard. Erik keeps his baggage to a minimum on set, never one for needless clutter and messes, so he doesn’t have much choice in terms of breakfast except for a bowl of cereal. 

That won’t do. The best course of action to alleviate his hunger, he concludes, is to run out to the nearest Costa and grab a quick sandwich or something. He jogs down the short steps from his trailer and walks out of the set, hat pulled down low over his face and turtleneck drawn up as far as they can go. He gets several looks from morning joggers dressed up in shorts and T-shirts, but he’s gotten too attached to the anonymity the turtleneck provides to give it up even when the weather is getting slightly warmer, creeping slowly towards the much-anticipated summer. 

He enters the first Costa he sees, gaze fixated on the floor as he searches his pocket for his wallet when he bumps into the person in front of him. 

“Sorry, I –” He looks up, and the excuse he’s got prepared evaporates on his tongue. “Hey.”

 

“Fancy seeing you here—” Charles casts a furtive glance around, as if to make doubly sure there won’t be a hoard of paparazzi popping out of the bushes outside the cafe. “Erik,” he says, voice low. 

Erik’s mouth twitches. “It’s fine, the entire city is only half-awake by now. You don’t need to be so careful.” 

Charles is dressed casually but impeccably, free of the burden of being recognised. His sunglasses rest on top of his neatly combed hair, looking so soft and silky the thought of running his fingers through the strands flit through Erik’s head for a moment. He smells like he’s had a morning shower, all fresh aftershave and citrus-scented soap, and with the knee-length khakis paired with a casual dress shirt Charles looks more like he’s headed for an expensive brunch with a business associate than a quick breakfast-run at the nearest coffee shop. Erik feels shabby in comparison and regrets not shaving that morning. 

“Just here for a quick breakfast run,” he mumbles as a way of justifying his appearance, although Charles doesn’t seem to be too bothered about it as he nods absent-mindedly. 

“Good sleep?” Charles asks. Normally Erik would have grunted in reply to such a question. He’s never one for small talk, preferring conversations of substance. But the hopeful way Charles arches an eyebrow and the way he doesn’t take his eyes off of Erik even as he moves up the queue compels him to answer. 

“Of course. That beauty sleep is badly needed before the real work starts."

Immediately, Charles perks up. “Did you know that ‘beauty sleep’ is an actual scientific concept? During those couple of hours of sleep, your skin, in fact, secretes a certain level of growth hormones that maintains the collagen matrix – a vital part of maintaining a youthful appearance, not to mention the increase in cell production to repair skin tissues and the like.” 

The animated manner with which Charles waves his arms about pulls an involuntary chuckle out of Erik, who struggles containing his mirth. “I forgot you were a makeup artist for a second there. You sounded almost like you were reciting a paragraph off your dissertation.” 

“Science has always fascinated me. Through that, my passion for makeup grew. It was the perfect blend between art and science, with so much room for trial and error and having a blank canvas to work with each time. It’s great. Is that weird?” 

“Sounds like a long way to get there, but I don’t think so. It’s not weird,” says Erik, tapping on the counter he’s leaning against. “Just interesting. Most people start out because they watched their mother or sister play with eyeshadows or something. At least, that’s what most of my previous makeup artists told me.” 

For some reason, Charles looks endeared by this. “The strongest of passions can blossom even from the most humble of beginnings.”

“No offense, but maybe those _juvenile_ beginnings are the reason why this occupation isn’t often taken seriously.” There’s a shift in Charles’ demeanour, starting from the way he quirks his eyebrows upwards like he’s challenging Erik to continue. “If the reason to start is so… humble, as you said, most likely it’s nothing but fleeting fancy.” 

“Humble and juvenile, I believe Mr. Lehnsherr, cannot be classed as synonyms.” 

“Well,” Erik grumbles into his coffee, suddenly feeling out of his depth – and he hates feeling out of his depth. “In this case they can.” 

“What inspired you to become an actor then?” This time Charles sounds genuinely curious, leaning forward with a smirk. “Weren’t you dazzled by the performance of a musical when you went as a child? Didn’t tragic love stories that move you to tears inspired you to take up such roles?” 

“What if I said I did it for the money?” 

At this, Charles bursts out laughing, his head thrown back, strands of his hair bouncing with every heave.

“I wouldn’t believe you for a second. You seem to possess a moral code too iron-clad to be broken by something as trivial as money.” 

The reply throws Erik off so much he pauses with his cup in mid-air, frowning like he’s trying to process everything that has just been said and strangely a little flattered. Charles is smiling, amused glint still in his eye. 

“Fair analysis,” is all Erik says in reply at last. 

Their orders arrive at the same time and Erik is suddenly lamenting his honesty of only dropping by for a short breakfast stop because it’s slightly addictive, talking to Charles, and Erik wants to sit for a while longer just to continue their mild banter. Here, Charles looks even more relaxed and in his element, sipping on his tea and the newspaper he carries – who brings around physical newspapers anymore? – folded on the side of the table, and Erik fights the feeling of wanting to bask in that carefree attitude, the lazy contentment the makeup artist seems to exude. 

But Erik is a man of his words, so he brushes these thoughts off his mind and lifts a hand in a half-wave. “Well. Here’s my breakfast. See you on set.” 

“Of course,” says Charles, grinning, and Erik has never been so glad to hear those two words before.

 


	2. The First of Many

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sort of dilemma Charles has to deal with on a daily basis is not a pretty one (but it can be a lovely one, if he's being honest).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: time skip from the previous chapter!

Almost halfway through their filming stage, Charles stumbles upon a slight dilemma.

“Sit still, and  _ stop doing that." _

Charles’ chiding only further encourages Erik to duck out of his reach, swiping the metal tray full of god-knows-what off the table and onto the air beside Erik’s head. Damn Erik and the lack of restriction on his powers.

“Yesterday my entire face itched hours after we wrapped up filming,” Erik grouses, clearly trying to get his point across by scoring sympathy points. “It  _ hurt. _ "

“Yes, that’s probably because you forgot to wipe your make-up off before going to bed, you big idiot,” Charles snaps back, rolling his eyes. “And I know that because I had to wipe half of it before re-doing the make-up for today!"

“Sure you’re not any breaking rules right now?"

“One hundred percent.” Charles grits his teeth. He hates the fact that he has to devote a large portion of his energy to maintain the iron-clad mind shield on-set. The director has repeatedly expressed his concern for the privacy of his actors when hiring Charles, knowing his telepathic powers are stronger than anyone else he’s ever come across — but Charles has ensured him that with great power comes great self-control. Which is partly true.

Except at times when Charles has to deal with this asshole of a lead, Erik Lehnsherr, and only barely manages to restrain himself from getting Erik to just  _ comply _ .

“My job would be so much easier if I could just mind-control you into sitting down,” grumbles Charles in defeat as he plucks the metal tray out of the air, surprisingly easily.

“Then try it,” Erik challenges, his face a stony expression of apathy.

“And lose my job? Hardly worth the trouble,” scoffs Charles. “Your role requires you to appear as if you’ve gone through hell and back. It is obligatory for every actor on set to wear some form of makeup — even the passersby on the streets and the office workers that survive the attack unscathed — and especially  _ you _ . Now, I suggest you trust my words when I say these things will not itch and co-operate, unless you want actual bruises on your face."

"I’d rather have real bruises and cuts than  _ chemicals _ on my face, goddammit."

“Really,” replies Charles dryly.

“Really.” Erik waves a finger and another brush is cleanly wrestled out of Charles’ hand.

Just when Erik thinks Charles is about to give up, he sits on the stool beside Erik and locks their eyes together in an icy stare, face full of determination to subdue Erik’s obstinacy through verbal persuasion. But through the many weeks, Erik has gotten familiar enough with Charles’ looks to enjoy them, almost revel in them.

“I’ll tell you what,” Charles begins slowly. "When you’re done filming, for  _ once _ during this entire thing, leave your trailer unlocked and I can remove your make-up for you before you go to bed —"

“I don’t need to be babysat —"

“If your face still itches in the morning, then you can blame me all you want."

“And what good is that? I’ll still have to endure another two hours of hair and makeup the next day, and wear the thing for another fourteen or something."

There’s a pause during which Charles racks his brain, thinking  _ oh bollocks, he’s right, I’ve really got no leverage here — _ before realising how ridiculous it is to sit there trying to pacify a grown man, an  _ actor _ , about makeup of all things.

“Then I’ll owe you one.” It’s more of a pathetic suggestion than a compromise, but Charles can see Erik’s eyes twinkle at the prospect. “Not indebted, just… whatever it is you want, I can get you."

“Whatever I want —"

“Nothing  _ inappropriate,” _ Charles interjects. He’s played games like these before, back when he was in high school and painfully naive, and well… he more often than not ended up with more than he bargained for. But that’s where the fun is right? “ _ Oh, _ I don’t know,” groans Charles, answering his own question. “Let’s just — can we make a start on this, somehow? You’re due to start filming in…forty-five minutes,  _ damn _ it all _." _

Now Charles is legitimately panicking, because there’s no way he can get Erik’s flawless, empty canvas of a face into a bloody mess needed for this particular messy action scene. He might need a couple of helping hands for the details, but every makeup artist is occupied at the moment, so Charles has no option but to whizz through the basics.

Seeing Charles haphazardly rummaging through the paraphernalia of boxes and tubes, Erik senses the gravity of the situation. “Alright, alright,” says Erik, and he has enough decency to sound a tiny bit penitent (because secretly, between the two of them, Erik’s the one more terrified about Charles losing his job).

Miraculously, Charles only manages to hold off Erik’s appearance on set for an extra 10 minutes, and he can’t say he’s not proud of his own handiwork when he steps back and sees the speckles of red along Erik’s brow bone, the split on his lip — Charles must have spent  _ a millenium  _ on that. For the sake of detail, of course — and the various other lacerations on the actor’s face. This is the only medium in which Charles can tolerate any sort of gore or semblance of violence, really; that’s how special makeup is to him.

“Wonderful, you’re good to go.” He doesn’t realise he’s been standing in front of Erik’s face, scrutinising the dip of his lips and the piercing gaze of his blue eyes until he steps back. Charles heaves a big sigh. “You’d better go now, otherwise the boss might have my head for it."

Erik simply grunts in agreement, lightly massaging the knots in his shoulders from sitting up too long. Before he steps out of the trailer, he turns around and says: “You know, I’m not convinced that you don’t break the rules sometimes,” before he saunters off, leaving Charles nonplussed and slightly worried that he had taken Erik’s concern too lightly.

  
  


*

  
  


They’re both too tired to converse much when Charles stumbles into Erik’s trailer. It’s somewhere between three in the morning or six, Charles doesn’t really know — except he does know that the sun isn’t up yet and the darkness only accentuates the shadows under Erik’s eyes, even under the layers of concealer he applied earlier.

“Long day?” Drowsily, Charles makes a start on Erik’s eyes, where much of the intensely pigmented make-up is. 

“Hm, you have no idea.”

“Oh, I think I might,” Charles laughs. He has, after all, been on stand-by the entire time in case any touch-ups were needed.

There’s a comfortable lull in the conversation as Charles moves about peeling away the mask he created, revealing the face he’s grown so familiar with over the past few weeks. Erik has his eyes closed, his breathing a steady rhythm, and the thought of Erik falling asleep while getting cleaned up is so endearing Charles struggles to contain the waves of affection from radiating out of his mind shields.

_ I’m not convinced that you don’t break the rules sometimes, _ Erik had said. It’s ridiculous — Charles is the epitome of professionalism in the industry, a habit cultivated from years of prejudice and wariness of his mutation by the general public. He has sworn not to slip up, not to use his powers under any circumstances when he’s working. Because who knows what kind of chaos he can start with information about the private lives of A-list celebrities? Not that Charles would ever consciously  _ start _ anything, but he definitely has days when he can slip up despite his best effort to control himself. So he remains vigilant, knowing prevention is better than cure.

But often, he wonders whether he’s being too harsh on himself — whether taking a peek into Erik Lehnsherr’s mind, just a small dip, is considered violation of his contracts.

Charles jumps at the thought and starts shaking his head, afraid of even entertaining the thought.  _ I need some sleep, _ he thinks. Just as he closes his box with a soft thud, Erik lets out a soft noise that has Charles’ hair stand on end. Their eyes meet, and there’s an awkward silence.

“I thought you fell asleep,” blurts Charles out intelligently. 

“I felt you closing the box…” Erik takes a shuddering breath, heavy with sleep. He rubs his eyes. “You should rest.”

“I will, thanks.” Having Erik worry over him feels a little pleasant, Charles thinks under the haze of general fatigue.

As he’s closing the door of the trailer shut, he hears Erik say: “Don’t forget our promise."

Charles smiles fondly. “Nothing will itch, but I won’t anyway."

 

*

 

 

12 years of experience as a professional make-up artist, and Charles has never felt as defeated as he does at that moment — staring down ruefully at the mess he’s made on the floor.

The rolling make-up case that usually sits placidly in the corner has been turned inside out and Charles has spent the entirety of his free morning pulling everything he owns — every tube of foundation, every can of setting spray, every face palette imaginable from contour powders to eyeshadows to face-paints made for the more complex special effects — out of their neatly arranged trays and dividers and scrutinising the labels on each container, examining their ingredients with the concentration of a surgeon. He’s even tried to figure out the synthetic materials his brushes and sponges are made of, but the tedious and laborious work has proven to be futile.

“I don’t  _ get _ it,” he whines, fingers clutching at hair strands in a desperate attempt to stave off the headache he’s sporting. “It’s been  _ five _ consecutive days. Usually the root of the problem would be obvious by now. What could you  _ possibly _ be allergic to?"

The question is directed at Erik Lehnsherr, the current source of his unending misery. The lead actor has been complaining of an itch since they first started filming the climactic battle scenes of the movie — granted, the scenes do demand a certain level of intricate face make-up to depict the physical struggle the protagonist has gone through.

“Why don’t you just use whatever you put on my face when we started filming?” It’s the first time Erik has spoken after he’s stepped into Charles’ trailer with a hesitant ' _ it itched last night' _ instead of a greeting. Charles can see him getting restless, having been forced to sit while Charles upends his entire make-up collection, unable to so much as twirl a vacant brush lest Charles shoots him a look so full of disappointment Erik feels like a student being chastised by the principal.

“I did that the first time you raised an issue,” Charles agonises, worrying his bottom lip. “I switched the base make-up to the default one I used — you know, the more liquid one — even though it meant compromising some of the pigmentation’s vibrancy in the gel products.” His fingers tap the table, belying his agitation.

“Well, I don’t need any major injuries drawn on my face today. Maybe that would —"

“But neither did you on the third day, remember? Since it was the flashback scene. Yet you complained then, too."

“Right, whatever,” grouses Erik. “It’s not a big deal. I think you’re forgetting something —"

“Of  _ course _ it’s a big deal! What will the director say if I ruined that face of yours?” Something in Charles’ voice catches when the words leave his mouth and Erik’s sharp intake of breath is audible in the sudden silence. Then a small smile finds its way onto Erik’s lips.

“Nice of you to worry about my face so much."

Charles turns to glare at the brushes strewn on the table, feeling heat creep up his neck. “As an actor, that  _ is _ your biggest asset."

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that,” says Erik, but Charles pretends he doesn’t hear it or understand its connotations as he pulls out some skincare products, tucked away in a smaller, sleek black box. 

“This tonic is supposed to soothe the skin after a day of heavy make-up. Have we tried that?"

“ _ Yes." _

“And it still itched afterwards?"

Erik sighs, clearly sick of having to repeat, “Yes."

Charles throws up his hands. “I give up.” He checks his watch and groans. “This took longer than I expected. We need to get started right now — rest assured we’ll make it to the set on time today, considering the make-up is considerably lighter for these scenes."

“Thank god,” mutters Erik, earning him an amused chuckle from Charles.

“Yes, thank god indeed."

Erik settles in his chair and closes his eyes. There’s the sound of running water in the background and the clacking of multiple brushes in their containers as Charles darts about laying out his tools. For some odd reason, he always finds the white noise of Charles working utterly relaxing, even though most people would regard the clutter more troublesome than anything. 

“Right, open your eyes for me, Erik."

So Erik does, but he’s clearly not prepared to see Charles — Charles, with his striking cerulean blue eyes and concentration etched in every muscle of his face — so close to him, regarding him with such careful attention that Erik has to fight the urge to lean back, only because the tension is becoming so palpable. Maybe to him.

“Hm. We’re going to be working with dark lighting today, since your character is supposed to be spying on the enemies."

“Yeah. I’ve read the script."

Charles rolls his eyes at Erik’s sarcasm and draws back, much to the actor’s disappointment. “So have I. I’m just wondering how to play up your best features in such dim lighting, since every emotion should be conveyed thoroughly through facial expressions with the lack of dialogue."

“And what are they?"

Charles bends over Erik again, this time a palette of eyeshadow in his hands. “What’s what?"

_ My best features, _ Erik wants to say. But his embarrassment wins over, and he says instead, “Never mind."

Soon they settle into their usual comfortable silence, Charles working his magic with his brushes and creams and powders while Erik fiddles with various objects in the room. Occasionally they break the silence with small talk, but today Erik is a little distracted, mind plagued with one thought he’s afraid of saying out loud. Sometimes Erik wishes Charles would just break out of the constraints he’s put on himself and read Erik’s mind. Everything be so much easier that way. 

Because the thing is, Erik may have told a small, teeny tiny lie.

Truthfully, nothing had itched after the second day. But Erik enjoys seeing Charles fuss over him, seeing the glint of concern in his eyes as he ponders over various alternatives. It’s a little cruel, Erik knows, but having Charles’ fingers in his hair as he pulls strands back to examine his face, hearing him mutter apologies and feeling the soft touch of his fingertips over his skin… Erik is easily a goner. And then, after an act of obstinacy, Charles has said he’d do anything for Erik if the make-up proved to be a discomfort once again. And Erik just…

Erik just wants to take the man out to dinner.

And he knows it’s a low move, that it’s playing dirty — but at least if Charles isn’t on the same page as he is, he can wave it off as a joke, with an ‘ _ I’m kidding, your face is priceless!’ _ tacked towards the end, leaving him free to nurse his wounded heart long after Charles has left the trailer.

Erik can’t imagine walking up to Charles and asking him properly, only to hear rejection and a pitying answer — because Charles  _ will, _ somehow, blame himself for it. He can’t laugh and say it was all a joke, and he knows it’ll be impossible to meet Charles’ eyes for the rest of the filming. Another 2 months or so. No, Erik can’t take that risk.

It’s pathetic. He’s an actor, and he can’t even pose a simple question without a facade of an offhanded and flippant attitude.

 

 


End file.
